Memory Charmed Europe
by AlyssOfTheIsle
Summary: For 5-year-old Harry Potter, magic works in wonderful and mysterious ways; particularly when it erases him from the memory and sight of any living person (read: the Dursleys). Of course, that all changed when he met the Goblins...Strong!Independent!Invisible!Harry, magical creatures, and a magic independent study. What could possibly go wrong?


**A/N**

 **What can I say? It came to my mind. BTW wrote this like three years ago and am finally getting it out there. HP FOR THE WIN!**

 **Disclaimer: If I did, HP would be a freaking huge series of spinoffs and alternate universes.**

 **Memory charmed Europe**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Discovery Channel: Harry edition**

Harry Potter, only 5 years old, glanced at his relatives weirdly. He was very confused because they hadn't punished him at all today. Usually, they wouldn't hesitate to berate and attack him what felt like at least 7 times a day.

Instead, today, they vaguely waved at him as he passed, even _smiled._

Harry shook his head, carefully potting the last of the Bluebell's Aunt Petunia had shoved at him earlier that morning, along with a massive checklist of chores. Standing up, he wiped his hands on his well-worn jeans, trudging inside after taking off the enormous work boots his Uncle Vernon had never used.

After locking the door, the ebony carefully patted down his cloths to shake off the loose dirt, before stumbling into the kitchen. He stepped up on the stool Aunt Petunia had let him have after Dudley broke it, grabbing the kitchen counter for support as he ascended. The cookbook was open to page 134, glazed ham and hash browns. Eyeing the recipe carefully, he jumped down from the stool and opened the refrigerator, pulling out the potatoes, and putting them on the counter. Harry struggled to lift the gigantic 10 lb. ham, stumbling back and forth on his way to the little blue stool. With a sudden burst of strength, he plopped it on the counter, panting heavily. After consulting the book once more, honey, 2 cloves, an onion, parsley, a lemon, salt, pepper, and olive oil joined the other ingredients as Harry set up to cook the hearty dinner. He did not know whom this was for, but he needed to make this perfect if he didn't want to get shut in his cupboard for a week.

An hour and a half later produced a perfectly cooked ham, nicely browned potatoes, and a delicious mixed greens salad with tomatoes and cucumbers, topped with an Italian dressing. Harry had just finished washing all the dishes, setting the table, and placing all the food on it when his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin bustled through the door. Behind them entered a whale of a woman and a dog, the woman being the notorious 'Aunt Marge'.

Harry shuddered, shrinking against the wall to hide himself. But, much to his surprise, he wasn't even acknowledged.

Petunia Dursley put her hand over her heart and gasped, stumbling, and would've fallen on the floor had Vernon Dursley not caught her. Dudley even looked surprised, staring at the ready cooked dinner, still steaming, that sat on his perfectly normal table.

Aunt Marge, however, failed to notice anything out of the ordinary. "Marvelous, Petunia!" she exclaimed, waddling over to the table and sitting down, her dog curling around her obtuse legs. "This looks quite good, even that 'world-renowned' chef in the city couldn't produce these results!"

"T-thank you, Marge," Petunia stuttered, wobbling over to her chair and collapsing in it, staring at the food in wonder.

Dudley just shrugged and plopped down in his chair, filling his plate to the brim and stuffing his face. Vernon slowly sunk into his chair and exchanged glances with Petunia, who was still white faced. Carefully, Petunia poked her plate and jerked her hand back nervously. It seemed perfectly normal. Maybe, maybe she had just forgotten that she had made it. Yes, yes that was it! Now she remembered. She had asked the elderly Miss Figg to pull the ham out of the oven before she got home. It seemed Vernon remembered as well, for he also dug into his food ravenously.

"Goodness Petunia, you've outdone yourself this time!" Aunt Marge exclaimed, licking her lips in a satisfied sort of way.

Harry shivered as Aunt Petunia laughed in her fake, tinkling voice. "Oh, thank you Marge. This is one of my favorite recipes, actually. I slaved over it all day, I'm so glad it turned out so well."

Now, Harry felt offended. His Aunt usually didn't take credit for his work, often saying she'd bought it from the local restaurant as take-out. Harry felt he deserved credit for this masterpiece, and thus, spoke up.

"Actually, I made it this morning," he whispered quietly, covering his head, expecting punishment.

But nothing came. Harry peaked though his arms to find them all ignoring him. Or perhaps they hadn't heard him? He'd say it again, then.

Harry took a deep breath, and said in a loud voice, "I was the one who made the dinner."

And yet, still nobody looked at him. This was very peculiar. Perhaps their new way of punishing him was ignoring him? Or maybe-

No, that wasn't possible. But Dudley hadn't sneered his way once yet. How very strange. Perhaps his earlier idea wasn't so far-fetched.

Tentatively, Harry creeped up to his relatives, waving his hand in front of their faces. No reaction. That was definitely not normal. No matter what was happening, the Dursley's would never ignore Harry waving his hand in their face.

Second check; Harry grabbed a plateful of food. He fearfully glanced at the family, but they didn't even glance his way. Their eyes slid over him, as if he didn't exist. Harry grabbed a drink and set it to the side along with the food, preparing one final test.

He shoved his Uncle Vernon straight off the chair.

"VERNON!" shrieked Aunt Petunia, shoving her chair back to help her husband up.

"M'fine," he waved her off. "Just slipped off the ruddy chair."

Harry stared, wide-eyed, almost not believing what was happening. The only explanation left was, well, that the Dursley's simply couldn't _see_ him there anymore. Or hear him, or even acknowledge his existence. It was like he didn't exist. They definitely didn't remember him, either (else they would've been hollering at him already). Perhaps, he wasn't real anymore. Maybe he was a ghost. Had he died? It was a very strange prospect. But, that couldn't be right. He didn't remember dying, and Aunt Petunia had given him those chores that morning! He had been able to touch his Uncle, and therefore was solid matter. Which meant he was alive and real.

Harry grabbed the plate of food and drink and ran to his cupboard, worried that someone would take his first real meal, never noticing the tendrils of magic that wrapped around his relatives, erasing their memories of him.

While devouring the delicious meal, Harry thought about what to do next. It was possible that other people could see him, but the earlier evidence suggested otherwise (he didn't include Marge as a 'Dursley'). That meant nobody would be able to help him or interact with him at all. This left him with several options, none of which sounded very appealing.

First of which, he could stay here with the Dursley's, leeching off their food and other necessities, going to primary school and trying to learn while nobody could see him.

Secondly, he could leave the Dursley's and try and survive on the streets, where still nobody could see him. This could be a problem, as there would be no grantee of shelter or food, and the possibility of death.

The decision wasn't really that difficult when all the facts were considered.

For the time being, Harry decided to stay at the Dursley's and consider his options further, where he at least had a few secure necessities. With a sigh, Harry set down his fork in disappointment, tracing his finger along the edge of the spotless plate. That had possibly been the best meal he'd ever had. Silently, Harry pushed open the door to his cupboard and snuck into the kitchen, quietly placing his dish in the sink to wash. Harry was about to re-enter his cupboard when a thought struck him.

He didn't need to sleep there anymore! The Dursley's wouldn't know, and Dudley rarely used his second bedroom. Harry grabbed what little possessions he owned and walked upstairs to the second bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. He cleared a few stray toys off the bed and slipped under the covers, closing his eyes briefly, basking in the feeling of a solid bed.

After a minute or two, he leapt to his feet and made his way over to an empty shelf where he spotted a pair of Dudley's old pajamas that were two sizes too small for the large boy. Grabbing them, Harry traveled to the bathroom and grabbed a spare toothbrush and mint toothpaste, reveling in the after feeling of clean teeth. He turned to the bathtub and turned on the water, taking a quick shower and slipping on the pajamas that fit him fairly decently-he still had to roll the sleeves up twice to uncover his hands.

He ran a comb through his thick hair, and replaced his glasses on his head. Practically running back to Dudley's second bedroom, Harry jumped on the bed, laughing as he sprang up towards the ceiling. Higher and higher he went, until he touched the roof with his hands. As Harry's body weight dragged him back down, he slipped on the silk covers and toppled off the bed towards the ground. Harry screwed his eyes shut and placed his arms protectively in front of his face, bracing for impact. Impact that never came. Squinting his eyes open, Harry found himself floating two feet off the ground.

Eyes wide, Harry stared at the ground. He tried to move, but found himself stuck.

Harry started to hyperventilate, tears forming in his eyes as he begged whatever force was holding him there to let him go.

Suddenly, he hit the ground. Harry winced at the loud thud, freezing as he heard the pounding of footsteps on the stairs.

The door burst open, hitting the wall with a thud. Harry peeked over the edge of the bed, wincing at the sight of Uncle Vernon's bright red face and Dudley's old major League baseball bat.

"Vernon? What is it?" Petunia asked fearfully, her head peeking over her husbands large shoulder.

The man's beady eyes swept over the room, passing right over Harry without any acknowledgment. Finally, he saw the toys scattered on the ground and let out a sigh of relief. "It's alright, pet. Some of Dudley's toys must've fallen over."

Petunia relaxed, smiling as she straightened her dress. "Well, I suppose it is time we got back down to Marge, then."

"Do we have time for a night cap?"

As their voices faded away, Harry slowly stood up, using the edge of the bed to help himself stand. Softly closing the door and shutting off the single light, he slipped beneath the quilted covers, resting his head on the fluffy pillow as he stared at his hands.

How very peculiar indeed.

 **A/N**

 **I hope you enjoyed this! It's literally been collecting dust...hopefully not too dusty? Tell me what you think.**

 **Anyways, to those of you following I'm a Rebel, I'm, like, literally the busiest/laziest person to ever live, so I'm still working on what I want to do next...See you next time :)**

 **Kisses!**

 **Alyss**


End file.
